


Convergence: The Imitation of Life

by Seung



Series: ...As it has been said in a song (drabble game) [4]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Angst, Blood and Injury, Drabble, F/M, Foster Care, Gen, Implied Violence, Inspired by Music, Inspired by song, M/M, Mild Language, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Smoking, Some Fluff, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22377370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seung/pseuds/Seung
Summary: 19.“I don’t want to go back to a timewhen you weren’t there.Me without you is insignificant”- 사랑해주세요 (Love Me, Please) by GummyConvergence [in biology]_the process whereby organisms not closely related independently evolve similar traits as a result of having to adapt to similar environments or ecological niches.
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Original Character(s)
Series: ...As it has been said in a song (drabble game) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610638





	Convergence: The Imitation of Life

“This time will be different”, you told yourself with confidence as you stepped out of the cheaply bought, old and overly-used Ford, that was all you could afford with the money you managed to gather with so much hard-work over the years as a foster child, jumping from different houses, different families - if you could ever call them such thing.

Once you’re out of the car, backpack hanging loose on your left shoulder, you glance at the uninspiring building in front of you proudly, the dubious neighborhood looks even more threatening under the irregular shadows cast by the dusk, it’s almost hard to believe that you’re finally out of the system now, on your own.

“No one can take from me what I going to build by myself”, you try to sound more self-assured than you actually feel.

For the first time, you wouldn’t be carrying your things in a garbage bag and you wouldn’t be meeting some random people that wouldn’t really be anything to you. Ignoring the lurking thoughts you pull open the door to the back seat with force because it’s broken and take two boxes out of the car, you have to force the door closed.

“Need some help over there?”, you turn around and glare at the man, disgusted by the ugly smirk playing on his lips.

“Fuck off”, you snapped when he tried to step closer and the next thing you know the man has a firm grip on your arm.

Kicking the boxes out of his way, he doesn’t care about the sounds of your things tumbling, getting tossed and disarranged inside the boxes as he shoves you against the side of your car.

“Think you something, you fucking whore”, he spit the words on your face, “imma gonna put you on your fucking place, you fucking bitch–”imma gonna put you on your fucking place, you fucking bitch–”

Using the sudden peak of adrenaline, you push him away, trying to get away from him when he stumbles back, but before you know it you’re back against the car. Biting on the inside of your cheek to avoid wincing from the pain that strikes your back, you fight off his hands trying to get another firm grip on you.

***

The next morning looks promising with its clean blue sky, bright yellow sun shining above, perfect weather, not much cold nor hot, not humid, just perfect, oddly perfect you’d say, the sound of sirens is soothing in the distance and you’re not surprised to hear the same loud voices from the day before so early in the morning, your back still hurts a lot, but you can’t just sit around and do nothing, in order to live this life of yours you need to get a job, get some money.

Stepping out of your apartment, that you realize the idea of keeping a distance from Mark would be a little more difficult than you thought when you see his undeniable figure walking down the corridor towards you, the yellow neon lights cast somber shadows around him and just like the day before, Mark has his face hidden by the shadow of his cap and because of that you can’t really see, but you certainly feel that when he tilts his head, just slightly, he’s looking at you.

The small plastic bag sways as he walks silent steps towards you and you grow anxious, accidentally breathing out a sigh of relief when he walks past you. Daring to glance over your shoulder you see him stop by the door a few steps further across from yours, Marks breathes out a long, emotionless sigh before twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open, every move of his is a calm and calculated.

The loud voices that were echoing around you a moment earlier stop even before the door closed behind him, the silence that comes after is almost deafening.  
It takes you a moment or two to realize you’re still standing in the hallway and the realization makes you go on your way.

What happened the day before was in everyone’s mouth this morning and it didn’t take long for you to feel the aftermath of it, somehow you’re known as “Mark’s protege” and saying that you’re pissed you off was an understatement seeing how people have this romanticized tunnel vision of things, something you never really got into your life.

Even when you’re far enough from the neighborhood those rumors seem to tag along, the cautions and hesitantly nervous rejections from people gets you more and more frustrated, it was obviously nothing against you, you’re nothing to them, it’s all about that Mark guy, that for whatever reason showed up and went against that man, whatever people were picturing it was far from the truth and you, yourself, doubt he did that for you.

You’re very much used to side-glances, to be the alien, to be talked about and pushed aside, be rejected, all of that is fine, but this?  
It’s a reckless impulse, driven by your frustration that tosses whatever rational and self-protective thought away when you see Mark walking out of a backdoor, into a dirty alley, the heavy black door’s rusty hinges squeak while closing behind him and even louder when it’s pushed open again, three men come out, two of them, taller and much more built than the one ghostly walking between them almost being carelessly dragged by them.

In your lack of awareness you don’t notice the man’s clothes kneaded and torn, hanging loosely on his body and you’re still too far to hear what they say to him, you don’t see Mark nodding, waving his hand dismissively at them, you only see the men walking away towards the other end of the alley as you stroll your way in and a little voice in back of your head tried to tell you how much of a bad idea this is when you notice very much clearly the way Mark tilts his head up to look at you for a short moment before focusing on digging his hand into his pocket, knuckles tainted with fresh blood, and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, your frustration speaks louder and soon your reasonable thoughts are strangled shut.

It’s not intentional the way you stomp your foot when you stop before him, seeing him tuck the pack back in his pocket after having the cigar lighten between his thumb and index finger, that stupid, stupid cap of his doesn’t let you see his face clearly even if the sun is at its peak, in all honesty, you didn’t think you’d come this far, you don’t have anything to say and you know he’s not looking at you, his head hung low as he takes a lungful of the smoke and, as you noticed before, his movements are always calm and calculated.

Mark doesn’t fully raise his head to look at you, stepping back to exhale the smoke and lowering the hand holding the cigarette so the smoke won’t bother you, he waits patiently for you to say something. Of course, he knows about the rumors going around, you seem pissed off so he can only assume you’re not happy about it, he never expected you to. Mark doesn’t like pulling his cap off, but the way you seem to be looking for his eyes makes him pull the cap higher for you to see his face, he’s not sure what in you draws him to do such a thing, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable for him, for once.

Your now dry lips part, but not a word comes out, you expected that the words would miraculously possess your lips making you say the right thing, but looking at him now, you can’t. It was like expecting a miracle to drop on your head, except that you don’t believe in miracles.

“You’re not here to thank me”, the cold statement is followed by another drag from his cigar.

“No”, you hate how your voice waivers and your lips quiver while you look in his eyes.

Generally, Mark doesn’t like looking into people’s eyes, but yours are different and he takes a step closer, you are too dumbstruck in something akin to cautiousness but borderlines fear, that you can’t move back as you wanted too. You can’t tell what but there’s this thing that surrounds him, all of him, emanating danger through every pore, it makes you want to run away, fast, you can’t control the way your body leans back, your heart pounds, hammering uncontrollably against your ribcage, the way your eyes grows two sizes when he steps close, too close you’d say.

His dark orbs hovering yours, digging for something that makes your throat constrict painfully, feels like being at the end of your lifeline and you don’t care how dramatic that sounds in your head. Holding in a breath you just wait, for– well, something?! Something to say or– you’re not sure yourself.

Shifting the weight on his feet, Mark lets a frown surface to his expression, the cigar burning away thoughtlessly between his fingers, the faint smell of nicotine and mint mixing with the wind and what everything’s gone, except for him, Mark’s still there hovering over you, but his eyes soften, somehow the darkness bathing them soothe somewhere hidden behind the almond colored irises, you wonder how can someone those eyes, they’re so different from before, like someone else’s. Your instinct of running fades away and saying that Mark’s intrigued is an understatement.

It’s so sudden you don’t see it a single move, but the next thing you know, that man’s yanked away from you and thrown on the dirty sidewalk, stunned and confused you can only stare at his helpless figure, slowly turning to look at this boy using denim ragged pants in front of you, face hidden under the shadow of his cap. The man curses under his breath and when he looks up you can see the blood streaming down his chin, staining the sidewalk, from his earned broken lips, he looks more threatening than before as he pushes himself up again.

More words fused with poison are lashed out from the man’s lips along with the blood he spit out in your direction, but his impotent figure halts as soon as he catches a glimpse of the boy standing there patiently, staring at him from under his cap, your eyes flutter from one to another, mouth slightly agape, just waiting for an opening to leave, the man on the floor seems as eager to escape as you.

“Ma–Mark– ?!”, his eyes wide open and a stupid expression plastered on his face as he stares at the other, obviously much younger than him, “wa–what’s wro–wrong man~?”, you tell how daring it is for him to attempt a broken half-smile and an almost unnoticeable mechanic-like shrug that suppose to be casual.

Despite the hectic state the man is, this Mark guy seem relaxed, not really putting up a real threat, standing there pacifically - if you could say such a thing -, but the moment you feel his eyes more than you see them under the shadow of his cap you understand why the other’s so guarded, the shiver that scratches down your spine is no joke, you feel relieved when Mark looks away and there’s not a glimpse of sympathy within you as you watch Mark taking a calculated step closer to the other, instead you use this small gap to sprint into the building.

The elevator’s doors barely opens and you can already hear the hideous fight that sounds more like a household war bounces on the walls towards you and maybe that’s wrong but you’re glad that, for once, you’re not in the middle of it, carrying the boxes and your backpack, now hanging uncomfortably on your wrist, you step in the narrow corridor that has only two flickering artificial yellow neon lights, something you have to put up with even though you hate it.

The cramped apartment is far worst than you remember, you must have been in a daze from the newly discovered freedom to picture something a little cleaner than this or maybe you just decided to fool yourself, either way, this is your home now. There’s this broken mirror in the small, and disgustingly stinky, bathroom where you see the bruise left on your back and that explains the nauseating pain that holds you back from following your plan of cleaning the apartment and settling yourself nicely that same night, instead you open the boxes and picks up one of those old books you stole from some public library, you’re glad it’s not ruined and you let yourself drown in its pages, trying to pull yourself away from the rotten apartment and the pain that makes you feel lightheaded.

Easily enough, it works, soon you’re surrounded by the world you’ve read about many, many times, the characters and their antics, not by reality, your pain doesn’t bother you that much anymore, it’s your anesthesia from reality, it has always been. You didn’t think you’d need it just yet.

“New beginnings are never easy”, you try telling yourself when you’re laid on your arranged bed later that night, the book laying on top of your backpack on the floor beside a flashlight, you are in the engulfing darkness that came with the night, the street lights and the cars passing outside are the only sources of light in the apartment.

It’s not comfortable, the whole apartment has a rancid smell, you try your best not to think about it, the bed squeaks when you try to shift into a better position, but your back hurts, leaving you stuck in an awkward position that doesn’t hurt your back, but it’s even more uncomfortable for the rest of your body. There’s a turmoil that never seems to cease inside you, a mix of everything you went through and kept bottled inside for so many years, never daring to let it all when you felt exposed under someone else’s roof, about everything ahead of you because you know it won’t get much easier for someone who feels as if is just starting life, all that is both, good and bad, just everything and nothing at the same time.

You don’t know why everything is creeping up on you, but without realizing your vision becomes blurry and you press your hands on your face, shutting tightly your eyes to not cry, the problem is those stubborn tears that slip through any gap they find.

***

Instead of running you stay, instead of avoiding, you look in his eyes, so instead of bringing you in and try getting your life in his hands, Mark falls in love with you and that’s the only way he can label what he feels for you even though he never saw, apart from those movies he dislikes, nor felt it before, he doesn’t really understand how it supposed to work.

“Does it bother you?”, Mark never learn how to be subjective and you learned that about him very quickly.

You shrug, feeling his eyes on you but it’s different from those two times when you met him, he never looked at you that way again.

“Not really”, you sigh, dropping your shoulders, “people talk however they feel like it”, licking his lips Mark looks ahead and nods, he still hides his face under his cap, but being this close to him all you have to do is look up at him, “does it bother you?”

“Not at all”, a distant small smile plays on his lips and you smile to yourself, a secret, small smile when you look up and see it, you miss the way he looks at you when you look away.

His steps are always silent, but he’s more casual than calculating with you, more easy-going as if the world is his permanent 9-5 office job where he has to keep this tough front all the time and then there’s you, you’re not sure if you’re a vacation or a weekend, either way, it’s good to see him like this.

Mark was never one to think if something was a good or bad idea when wasn’t related to his job, but he tried doing that when it came to you, letting you in or not, his impulse spoke louder and the way your voice called his name the first time was a good reward, then you kept calling him ‘Mark’ and when you called him, you never sounded like you were calling the trouble maker, psycho kid, the scary boss, none of that, none of the other things, just Mark and he gladly got accustomed to that.

The sky is painted a beautiful watercolor of yellow, orange, red and fainting blue and white, the lights along the street become brighter gradually, the cars passing by becoming more frequent and he walks quietly by his side, it’s something so mundane that weirdly enough put his heart at ease. When you stop, looking at a grocery store, he stops by your side, looking at it before seeing you turn to look at him and scratching your head, tilting your head a little, he doesn’t like when you look away from him.

“I have to buy some things–”, you trail off and he smiles at how cute you look just this way.

His smile surprises you when you look at him and see him nodding assertively at you.

“No problem”, his hand’s soft and warm when he holds yours and walk you inside the store and you hate the fact that you’re blushing, you know he’s looking, you always know when he’s looking.

These romantic cliches aren’t your thing, not Mark’s but the both of you see yourselves caught in it numerous times, to the point where you don’t mind anymore.

You don’t mind him helping you to get a job at this coffee shop slash bookshop you found fascinating but got disappointed when you’re turned down for having an “unclear background” for being a foster child, at least that’s how they put at first before apologizing for their mistake and taking you in, you don’t mind him taking you to the local clinic he claims the services are free of charge because he’s friends with the owner just so you could treat your back that worsens with time, you don’t mind when he knocks on your door during a random Friday and start fixing your car - and to your surprise he’s really good at it.

There’s this weekend where Mark helps you redecorate the apartment and by the end, it looks like something you always stared in a magazine or someone else’s computer, and you accept the gifts he gives you and even knowing he’s reluctant you buy him things when you can and he takes it gladly.

Mark finds out that there’s nothing better than being with you, doing whatever you want to, talking about whatever you want to, just… being with you. He also loves your smile and the way you open up to him, when you listen t him, listen to his story willingly with genuine attention.

Feels as if the world is renewed right before his eyes, more than anything, he trusts you and he definitely loves you, he’s sure now, he loves you. He loves every single thing about you. The way you can talk for ages about those old books you stole, the way you smile when you tell something about them, how your cheeks tint a beautiful color of red when you laugh and the different smiles you have, every single one of them, every joke you say he laughs at because is funny the way you tell them even if he never liked jokes that much before, he does now.

There are things he doesn’t like as well, such as the way you’re close in yourself when you see him working and he knows it’s ugly and he hates when you tell him why he hates it, hates even more that he can’t change your past, he hates that he can’t erase bad memories nor stop nightmares, so he wraps you in his arms and lets you cry as much as you want, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, finding his voice to sing you a lullaby, some stupid old song you end up claiming as your lullaby after some time and he sings whenever you want him to.

But, the more Mark loves when you tell him about your dreams, the more he hates how they become veiled and distant when he see that spark of hope fading because reality’s not easy and whenever there’s a thing he can change, he does, so he’s decided to create a new reality for you. Mark never knew anyone who provokes this side of him, it’s the first time he’s decided to pursue a future beyond the cramped apartment and a predictable future.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the lack of proof-reading.
> 
> Find me [@fictionalarsonist](fictionalarsonist.tumblr.com)


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